


Broken

by sop101



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:40:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29021376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sop101/pseuds/sop101
Summary: Draco finds Hermione in the prefect’s bathroom after she’s been assaulted. Will she be able to rebuild herself while navigating a secret relationship with him?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

"Alright boys, I'm off," Draco told his Slytherin housemates with a grin as he walked down from the top of the stairs into the common room, towel and soap in hand.

"Oi, where are you going, Malfoy?" called Blaise.

Draco rolled his eyes. He looked pointedly at his friend, then made a show of turning his head to the items in his hands before answering. "The Prefects' Bathroom," he drawled as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He looked expectantly at Blaise's face, searching for the hint of jealousy that Draco had come to expect from his friend after being chosen for the coveted position over him. Instead, Blaise just looked at him blankly for a moment before turning his attention back to the card game he was playing with Pansy and Marcus, who had yet to look up at Draco.

He continued his descent to the door, when it suddenly burst open, letting in a rather disheveled-looking Theo. His robes were creased and looked like they'd been thrown on hastily, his hair was mussed, and there was a bump in his pocket as if something had been stuffed inside it. Theo's cheeks were tinged a light pink.

"Where have you been?" Draco asked, an idea already forming in his mind based on Theo's untidy appearance and his knowledge of his friend's preferred late-night activities.

"Just off having a shag," he said with a mischievous grin, as if he were intentionally downplaying it with false modesty. He settled himself down beside Marcus on the tall green chairs in the common room. "Merlin, she was good," he said, sighing as if reliving the moment. "Can't wait until next time."

Pansy raised her eyebrows. "Oh? And which girl is unlucky enough to have been touched by you?" she inquired, her eyebrows drawn in disgust but a smile playing at her lips.

Theo sighed contentedly, raising his arms onto the high back of the chair above him to support his head. "A gentleman never tells," he replied smugly.

Draco let out a low laugh. "Ha! Fancy yourself a gentleman? You'd be the only one. I'm surprised you could get a girl to even look at you, much less touch you," he taunted. Draco was friends with Theodore, but he knew of his slimy antics when it came to wooing women. Theo was the horniest bastard Draco had ever met, constantly searching for a new girl to shag. It was no secret that Theo had trouble finding new "partners," given the relatively small selection of girls in their year at Hogwarts and the fact that Theo's demeanor was not exactly alluring. 

Theo's cheeks turned red again, this time in embarrassment. Blaise, Pansy, and Daphne chuckled at the look on his face. Theo paused, clearly racking his brain for a proper comeback. After a moment, he coughed out an unimpressive "Sod off, Malfoy!” and the rest of the slytherins burst into laughter. 

"Aren't you clever," Draco mumbled under his breath before reaching to turn the handle of the door.

"Malfoy!" Theo called, "Where are you going? It's nearly 10!"

"Prefects' Bathroom," Draco replied, rolling his eyes. He hated repeating himself, even if Theo hadn't been there the first time he'd said it. "And I don't have a curfew, thank you very much," he added, motioning to the badge on his chest.

"Oh?" Theo replied in surprise, his eyes glittering as if he had suddenly realized something wonderful. "Have fun, mate. Let me know if you find anything interesting to do in there," he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Right."

* * *

10 minutes earlier

Hermione let out a low sob as the door to the Prefects' Bathroom swung closed with a small thud, followed by the echo of hasty footsteps down the corridor. She lay against the pillar behind her, perfectly still for a moment, until she began to shake uncontrollably. She brought her trembling hands to her face, covering her eyes, just letting the tears slip down her reddened cheeks. Hermione raised her knees to her face and let her head rest on them. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't let enough air into her lungs in between sobs, and just sat there, rocking herself and trying to steady her breath, which would catch every few seconds.

 _Why me?_ Hermione asked herself over and over. _Why?_ She knew why: because of her blood. But she couldn’t wrap her head around a person doing this to her because of prejudice. Like a broken record, she just kept asking herself, _why?_

Hermione lowered her hands to her side, palms flat on the floor besides her hips, letting her arms hold her up. Her crying steadied after what felt like an eternity of just sitting there, her breaths becoming more regular and the burning in her chest subsiding, but her stomach rolled violently with the urge to vomit. She stood suddenly, moving frantically towards the toilets. Hermione stumbled clumsily in her mad dash, her knees buckling and hitting the ground hard, arms coming out in front of her to prevent her head from colliding with the marble floor. She began to sob again, but her stomach lurched, emptying the contents of her dinner onto the floor between her arms. Merlin, she felt disgusting. She was breathing just fine now, but felt suffocated under the memory of his callused hands on her, feeling her skin, tearing her clothes, tainting her irrevocably.

She moved around her vomit and crawled desperately to the stall, where she slid down against the door and let the tears fall silently. Hermione looked down at herself and realized that she was a mess. Her robes were torn, exposing bits of skin all over. Blood was smeared on the inside of her thigh and had stained the floor where she had been sitting. Her eye caught the gleam of her golden pin. She was a mess, but her Head Girl badge was unscathed. She shouldn't have found any humor in that but she did, though she couldn't muster the energy to laugh. Of course in this moment of wretchedness, the symbol of Hermione's academic excellence would be intact, as if it really mattered at a time like this. No, she corrected herself, as if it were the only part of her left untouched. She swallowed and held her breath to hold back another sob.

Hermione fixed her eyes on a dark brown mark on the inside of the porcelain tub across from her. _Mud_ , she thought dazedly, though she didn't know if the word had come to mind because of what he had called her blood or because of the dirt she was staring at. She held herself there against the stall, feeling suddenly numb, letting her tears and memories wash over her.

* * *

Draco pulled open the heavy door and entered the mostly dark bathroom. He heard scuffling somewhere over to his left and reached for the wand in his sleeve, pulling it out and pointing it at the source. There was someone huddled against the stall, head buried in his or her knees so he couldn't see their face. "Who’s there?" He called out uncertainly. He hadn’t expected anyone else would be in here so late. He stepped towards the form slowly, squinting his eyes to better adjust them to the dim lighting. A girl, he thought, judging by her size. As he approached and caught sight of mousy brown curls, he huffed in annoyance. "Oh. It's you, Granger," he said, the air of superiority returning to his voice as he tucked his wand back into his robes.

At the sound of his voice, she slid abruptly away from him along the stall door, doing some sort of funny crab walk. Draco didn't know what in hell had gotten into her. She was probably having a breakdown from getting less-than-perfect marks on an exam, or maybe Weasley had broken her poor little heart, he surmised, turning his back to her to go run the water. "I'd rather like some privacy here, Granger, so if you don't mind," he announced, irritated with her odd behavior and wishing she would just go so he could have some alone time. He turned back around and made his way to the bath faucets. 

Suddenly, he heard a sob from behind him. Merlin, she was off her bloody rocker. He spun around so he was facing her again, and she raised her head slightly from between her knees to yell at him. "Go away, Malfoy," she hissed, her voice fierce but choked with tears.

What had her so distressed? Now he was just curious. It was when Draco stepped closer to her that he took in her full state: her robes were completely torn, with shreds of fabric hanging loosely, exposing one of her shoulders and barely covering her front. Her stockings had been ripped down and were crumpled at her feet, the nest of curls on her head a terrible frizzy mess, and tear tracks down her face.

He realized then that something horrible must have happened, and he felt like a right prick for coming in, pointing his wand at her, and yelling at her to get out. He had no idea what to do. He was keenly aware of their relationship - that he'd been her bully for years, being endlessly cruel to her under the pretense of blood superiority; shoving her in the halls, throwing her books down, calling her a filthy Mudblood any chance he got. Not to mention that they had fought on opposite sides of the war, with him embracing the dark side and her, as virtuous as ever, joining the order. He couldn’t deny that he resented her for that— for choosing correctly

Draco hadn't spoken to her since the war when she was being tortured at his home, and that left a wealth of tension between the two of them. There had been minimal interaction between them, save for the instance at the beginning of the year when he had dropped his books in the Transfiguration classroom after the lesson. It had been just the two of them left in the classroom, and she had paused, giving him a wary, exhausted look before sighing and bending down to pick up his textbooks. She had placed them on the desk in front of him and walked out without a word. He was inexplicably struck by that moment. It was the first time he saw her as a person - as an equal - rather than an inferior. 

"What happened, Granger? He asked, furrowing his brows and making his way towards her carefully as if she were a wild animal. Her hair was covering most of her face but he could see her wide eyes on him, watching carefully. She was hunched over defensively in a stance that warned him to stay back, and Draco paused in his approach.

"Nothing," she said, her voice choked with tears. "Stay back. Please, Malfoy," she begged, her voice hitching on the "please." She attempted to move away from him again, but was backed into the corner of the bathroom against the stall. "Please," she repeated again, this time breaking into quiet sobs. 

Draco held up his hands placatingly and dropped to his knees a few feet from her, down to her level. “What the hell happened here?” he asked with an intentionally harsh tone of voice. He wasn’t exactly chummy with her and he wouldn’t be making an effort to be nice just because she seemed to be in some kind of distress. It would be too uncomfortable to be nice, lest he risk showing that he no longer actually considered himself superior to her. Merlin knew why, but the thought of being kind to her made him uneasy. 

“Someone attacked me," she finally answered, the words muffled by the knee against her mouth. She shuffled slightly and her hair fell behind her shoulders, no longer hiding her face, and her robes came slightly undone as she released the death grip holding them together. He cursed himself for the small gasp that left his mouth when he saw her full state. There was a nasty cut on her bottom lip that was bleeding slightly, blood smeared on her chin. An abrasion sat high on her cheekbone, bleeding profusely, and her other cheek swelled pink, as if slapped hard. He thought he could make out a handprint, though he really couldn't be sure in the dark with only the moonlight illuminating her. Granger's neck was a shocking sight; swollen red and purple blotches all over, already beginning to bruise.

Her exposed shoulder had bite marks on it. Three or four, two of which were deep and bleeding. His eyes skimmed further down. Her robe was partially open, and he could make out her skin underneath. He didn't think she was wearing a bra, but he didn't investigate further. He followed her injuries down with his eyes and saw blood on the inside of her upper thighs. If he'd had any questions about what had happened, they were suddenly quashed. She wasn't wearing underwear, so he looked straight away from her bent up legs.

He felt like he may vomit. Draco had never imagined this would happen to anyone at this school, much less to Hermione Granger. She seemed too fierce, too powerful, too strong to ever be brought down. He knew, of course, that a strong temperament would do little to deter a rapist. Merlin, she'd been _raped_. He felt awful, disgusted with the very word, much less the act.

Draco didn't dare touch her. He didn't know what to do. "Granger", he said, voice suddenly soft, all notions of maintaining an air of superiority instantly flying from his head. He was such a git for being so cold to her when she had just experienced _that._ Sure, he may not be anything close to friends with her, but _still._ She was just a person. Merlin, she looked terrified. "I won’t hurt you." She lifted her chin and looked up at him shyly, tears burning her brown eyes. 

She stared at him warily for a moment, something unrecognizable in her eyes, before speaking. "Can you heal me?" He was caught off guard by the question. He didn't know what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't for her to ask him that. After all, the hospital wing was just down the hall.

The idea of sitting here in silence with her while he intimately healed her injuries seemed frankly awful. "Um... I’d prefer if you did that yourself. Or got Madam Pomfrey to do it for you."

"No, I need- I need you to do it." Draco had no idea what had gotten into her. Obviously she was unstable at the moment, given what had happened, but it made no sense for him to heal her when she could do it herself or get someone who was actually trained to do it. But he looked into her eyes and saw overwhelming fear, and decided that it wouldn’t be _too_ great an inconvenience, and he wasn’t about to go on with taking his bath after this anyway. He sighed to himself before sitting down in front of her and crossing his legs uncomfortably.

"I only know a few basic spells," he admitted, suddenly embarrassed and wishing he had made more of an effort to study healing magic in his free time. Draco lifted his wand to her lip as she watched him carefully. " _Episkey_ ," he said. She groaned slightly, and the skin mended immediately, leaving only a faint trace of a scar where the cut had been. He moved his wand to her reddened neck, the tip of it barely touching her throat, and she flinched slightly. Ignoring her physical response, he muttered a spell to lessen the swelling, but it barely went down. He had to repeat it several times for it to return to its normal size, though he couldn't do anything about the horrible color of it.

Suddenly, it occurred to him that he had no idea who had actually done this. The perpetrator. The _rapist._ Was it a student? A professor? No, it couldn’t be a professor. Had someone snuck into the school - an invader? He gulped as he thought back to the vanishing cabinet that he had restored. If something like that had been built, something that would let the Dark Lord’s army back into the school, Merlin help them. _No_ , he reassured himself, _the Dark Lord’s army is dead._ It had to be someone in the school. The only question was _who._

Draco didn't know if it was his place to ask - actually, he was rather certain that it wasn't, but he began to anyway. "Granger, wh-" he stopped abruptly mid-question, suddenly realizing that he knew exactly who had done this. "Nott," he breathed, rage suddenly filling him. That's why the disgusting prick had gotten excited over Draco going to the Prefects' Bathroom. Did the sick fucker actually think that Draco would be proud of him, thrilled with him for defiling the Mudblood? Or worse yet, did Theo think that Draco would take pleasure in assaulting her himself? Theo's words rang in his ears: "Let me know if you find anything interesting to do there." He felt ill.

Draco had never suspected that this was the kind of thing that the man he considered his friend would do. He'd always been vaguely aware of Theo's skeevy tendencies when it came to women, but had never imagined that it would amount to this- to such a cold blooded, horrible crime. 

Granger began crying again at Draco's mention of her attacker's name, and he pulled back his wand. "Oh, um... I didn't mean to- it's just that he came back to the common room… um, a few minutes ago, so I figured it was him," he said awkwardly. He had been about to say that Theo had returned bragging about his newest conquest, but decided that would be insensitive.

She just cried harder at that, her breath beginning to hitch awkwardly and hiccups racking her. Merlin, he shouldn't have said anything. "Granger." He wanted to get her attention, to distract her, but he had no idea how to comfort someone in this kind of situation. "Granger, what else do you need me to heal?"

She looked up at him and lifted a hand tentatively to the back of her head. "M-my head," she stuttered, parting her hair to show the wound. As she turned it, Draco saw that a portion of her hair was matted, stuck to her head in bloodied clumps. He lifted his wand to the wound hidden under her hair and murmured a spell to repair the broken skin, hoping it would be enough to sustain her until she was properly treated.

"Did you hit it hard? You may be concussed."

"Well, I- I think so," she answered, clearly trying to remember. "I feel rather dizzy and I have a headache, so I most likely do have one." He was about to respond with another comment about going to the hospital when she spoke again suddenly. "I think one of my ribs is broken, too."

Draco had no idea how to heal that kind of injury, and felt instantly uneasy at the prospect of doing so.

"I'll teach you the spell if you need, but I don't think I can do it myself. It’s stronger than an _episkey_ ," she said, reading the nervous look on his face. He held it out reluctantly and she lightly grabbed the tip of it, seemingly careful to avoid direct contact with him. "The incantation is Brackium Emendo," she told him, flicking her wrist and waving the wand confidently. She seemed more herself casting a spell, or rather teaching someone to cast a spell, than she had during their whole encounter. She repeated the spell and movement twice more for good measure.

"Alright," he said, satisfied that he could cast it after watching her and unwilling to show any hesitation he felt. She handed him back his wand. "Brackium Emendo," he muttered while doing the movement, practicing a few times for good measure.

"It… it can't be done over clothes. I have to m-move my robe," she muttered, suddenly seeming scared again. Draco’s eyes widened. He was _not_ comfortable with her removing her clothes. But before he could speak, Granger moved her left hand, which had been protectively pulling her robes closed. He looked away instantly, his lessons on Pureblood propriety suddenly entering his mind. This was highly improper. 

She tugged gently at her robe and he could see from the corner of his eye that the left side of her chest was entirely exposed, as well as part of her stomach. Draco had no idea what had given her the confidence to expose herself to him in this manner given the fact that she had just been _assaulted_ and that he was Draco Malfoy, her old bully, not one of her close girl friends. Draco coughed awkwardly, turning slightly and looking up into her eyes for approval that he could continue. She nodded slightly, sensing his hesitancy. He redirected his gaze back down, careful not to let his eyes wander, but he couldn't help but notice horrible bruises all over her. The skin over her ribs was purple and there were horrible hickey and bite marks all over her breast.

He felt sick again, but he just raised his wand to her ribs and muttered the incantation. There was a horrible cracking sound and she yelped suddenly, springing back against the stall door as if struck. She immediately pulled her robes closed again.

He leaned back and cleared his throat. "Erm- anything else?" He asked. She shook her head slowly.

He knew she wouldn't let him near her _other_ wounds, not that he'd know what to do in the least. "You'll need dittany for the, er, bites." He motioned to her shoulder and she looked down to it to see the exposed marks for herself. A puzzled look filled her face, as if she hadn’t known they were there. She lifted her fingers and ever-so-gently stroked the bites. She furrowed her brow. "Uh... Let's just get you to the hospital wing."

She was suddenly violently shaking her head. "N-n-no, I c-can't let anyone see me like this," she cried, immediately breaking into stutters. What was she talking about? She needed to go to the hospital wing, then to Dumbledore's office to tell him what had happened. "No one can know. No- no one can know.”

"Granger, you have to get treated. You need dittany to heal the wounds on your cheek and shoulder, and pain potion, and probably a million other things I don't know about,” he scolded, carefully avoiding mentioning just _what_ other wounds she might have. “You have to. You don't have a _choice._ We're going to the hospital wing now.” She was being ridiculous. 

"P-please don't make me," she said in a terribly small voice. "Please.” Her breath caught between sobs, "please don't make me do anything. I-I can't. I can't. I can't." Merlin, this was painful to watch. He didn't know how to help her. She was so traumatized, and clearly trying to order her around wasn't making her feel better, but Draco knew that she needed treatment beyond his weak healing charms.

"Granger…" he began, but she interrupted him suddenly, screaming. "No! I said no!"

"Merlin, fine!" Draco responded, getting to his feet. "If you don't want any help, I'll just go and you can deal with your concussion and everything else on your own, then!" If she was going to be so ridiculous as to refuse treatment, Draco would just leave her. After all, it wasn't his responsibility to help her. He didn't even like her. He told himself that the only reason he had stayed with her in the first place and tried to help her was that he felt pity for her. But even as tried to convince himself of that, he knew he was wrong for threatening to leave her in this state, and secretly hoped that she would plead with him to stay so he wouldn’t have to compromise his pride by immediately going back on his word. 

"No, don't- please don't leave me. I- I can't do this by myself." Draco paused. He could tell that it pained her to admit that she needed help; this was Hermione Granger after all, a girl who was well known for her bossiness and independence. She probably wasn't used to being so vulnerable.

He relented and sat down in front of her again, giving her an appraising look. His eyes roved over her face in an attempt to read her and discern what was going on in her brain. "Okay. I'll stay." 

* * *

  
"Well, what do you want to do, then?" Malfoy asked after they had been sitting in silence for what she guessed was about five minutes.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, her breath finally evening. Her tears were slowing with every passing second. "Just let me stay here a moment."

He didn't say anything, but he crawled to her left and slumped beside her against the stall door. She shuddered as he moved near her. Just the proximity of him made her feel uneasy. She shuffled away from him, not caring if he was insulted, and remembering suddenly that he cared about blood purity. How she had forgotten, she didn't know. He was probably disgusted to be so near her. Disgusted to touch her. Would he call her Mudblood once this was over? He hadn't yet, but that was just because he pitied her, she supposed. She didn't want his pity.

She shuddered again, at nothing more than a chill in the room this time, but then she felt _his_ hands on her. All over her.

"God, I can still feel it," she said after minutes of silence. Her voice was more even now, but her throat was terribly sore. "I can feel him...rutting against me. His hands- his hands on me." She didn't know why she was saying this, especially to Draco Malfoy. She imagined he should be rejoicing at her downfall, at her obvious weakness and brokenness. Because that was what she was now, right? Broken. Used. A whore. That's what _he'd_ said.

Hermione was a feminist - she knew intellectually that there was no shame in being a victim, that she had no reason to feel the way she did, but still, she felt it. She couldn't help it. She felt dirtier than she had in her entire life. And Merlin, she was sore. He'd been so rough. She wasn't even a virgin, but she'd still bled. She was horrified, but felt strangely validated by the blood lining her thighs. As if it were proof that she wasn't crazy to be feeling this way, to be feeling so violated. Because he _had_ hurt her, and the evidence was right there. It made her feel like she wasn't blowing things out of proportion. Oh God, had Malfoy seen the blood? She was suddenly mortified, and shifted to cover herself better. 

She chanced a glance at him to see if he had noticed, but he was just staring at her face with a horribly sympathetic look on his features. "I'm so sorry, Hermione," he said quietly, as if she were unbelievably delicate. The sympathy made her want to burst into tears again, but she just swallowed the lump in her throat and let her eyes glaze over. She turned back away from him and looked straight ahead. This was horribly embarrassing- for her _male childhood bully_ to be helping her after she had been violated in the most worst way possible, and watching her cry and fall apart. She wanted him to go so he wouldn't see her like this. But a different part of her needed him to stay - needed _someone_ to stay with her. 

Hermione just couldn't shake the feeling that, had she been quicker, smarter, more competent, better at spells, she could have narrowly avoided Nott's advances. He'd surprised her, but if she hadn't been so absorbed in her stupid, unimportant issues, perhaps she could have reacted faster to him. She was embarrassed that she had let this happen to herself, though she also knew that she likely could have done little to prevent it. 

She felt like she needed to prove to Draco that she wasn't normally this weak, that she could usually fight back. "He confounded me as soon as he opened the door," she explained, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them. "I didn't have the chance to grab my wand." _A lie_ , she told herself. If she'd been faster, she could have grabbed it.

"I didn't understand what was happening. I was so confused from the _confundus_ ." She remembered Nott’s hands on her - all over her, and felt disgusted. “I wanted to die. I _want_ to die.”

"Granger, don't say that. It's over now. He'll never touch you again. Never." He sounded so sure that she wanted to believe him. She looked over to him, and his face was so earnest, his low voice so fervent, as if what he said were the absolute truth, that she wanted to believe him— to believe that she could be protected, that _he_ could protect her, that she could be safe. God, she was pathetic, hoping her school nemesis could protect her.

"It's not, though. Over. It's not over. He s-said he'd come back." Merlin, she hated stuttering. She hadn't done it since she was a little girl throwing incoherent tantrums. Hermione Granger did not stutter. "That he wanted to...to f-fuck me again.” Malfoy blanched at her word choice, but she was only repeating what Nott had said. “And he said that if I told anyone, he'd kill me for it." She struggled to get the words out without tripping over them. "And I believe him. Malfoy, I believe him. He was just...so scary, so much stronger than me." She felt horribly weak saying that. She didn't want Malfoy to think she was playing the martyr, exaggerating Nott's physicality to make herself seem more of a victim. She _hated_ seeming so weak and helpless.

"I couldn't fight back. I tried so hard, I swear I did, but he held me still and then he was…" she broke off for a moment, trying to find the resolve, the courage to keep talking. "I couldn't hold him off or find my wand or do anything," she continued, big, fat, silent tears slipping down her now pale cheeks. 

Suddenly, she felt a warm hand on hers. She flinched, pulling her hand away and shuffling backwards, shocked at the contact. "I said not to touch me!" Hermione cried, suddenly finding her voice. She looked up to him, and his eyes were narrowed in confusion, a frown marking his face.

"Sorry, Granger," he said, pulling himself away from her. "Sorry."

She took a deep breath. "It's okay.” And it was. He just wanted to help. She knew that this was a completely unprecedented situation, and he seemed at a total loss as to what to do. He just didn't understand what she needed, and she couldn't exactly blame him for that, could she? And he _had_ apologized, something she never expected Draco Malfoy would ever do. It occurred to Hermione briefly that she might not know him as well as she thought she did.

"But Granger, just because he threatened you doesn't mean that we can't tell Dumbledore. If he said he'd do it again, you have to tell him," he said logically.

She wanted to. She wanted to tell, but she was so scared. God, wasn’t she supposed to be a _Gryffindor?_ Supposed to be _brave?_ And here she was, cowering and making a fool of herself. 

"No, Malfoy, you don't understand! He said that if I told and he got in trouble, his friends would kill me. That they would kill _my_ friends, that they'd kill Harry and Ron! I can't let that happen, I can't let them hurt the people I love."

She realized as she spoke what the alternative was: her rape. Over and over and over again. That if she didn't turn Nott in, she was practically letting him attack her. Defile her. She wanted to scream at the anguish that thought gave her. No, she couldn't do that. She couldn't let him do that to her. But if she turned him in, people could die. Her best friends could die. It was an impossible situation.

"Granger…" he began, his brows furrowed and silver eyes gleaming desperately. She cut him off sharply. She didn't want to talk about what she was going to do. She didn't want to think about a future where this happened to her repeatedly.

"No," she said with a conviction that she didn't feel but desperately wanted to. She wanted to feel strong. But a part of her just wanted to collapse and let the tide wash over her so she wouldn't have to feel this anymore. To live in this waking nightmare.

"You can tell Potter and the Weasel though, can't you?" He asked, certain that she'd agree with him on this one point. She ignored his childish and cruel nickname for Ron. “They _have_ to help you. You’re the _Golden Trio_ for Merlin’s sake,” he said, and Hermione sensed resentment in his voice as he spoke the words “Golden trio,” but decided to let it slide. 

She wouldn’t tell Draco that she felt too shameful to tell a single soul what had happened. She was humiliated. She didn't think she could tell anyone, much less _boys_ , even if they _were_ her best friends. They wouldn't understand— all they could possibly offer her would be pity. She could just imagine now how Harry and Ron would look at her— with helpless, depressed eyes and pathetic smiles in an attempt to cheer her up. 

But instead, she just said “Yes. I'll tell them.”

She remembered their disagreement suddenly. "But, we're fighting over something right now… that's why I came to the bathroom tonight. I... was upset." Her voice trailed off as she realized that she didn't even remember what she had been arguing with them over. Something about classes or assignments, she thought, racking her brain. Clearly it wasn't important if she couldn't remember

Draco didn't say anything. He sat twiddling his fingers awkwardly, looking at her every few seconds, as if worried she would combust.

"I want to take a bath," she finally said. She hoped he'd understand that she wanted to scrub herself clean of him without her having to say it.

He nodded and began to stand, reaching out his hand to offer her for a fleeting moment before seeming to remember not to touch her and pulling back. Hermione didn't exactly consider Malfoy to be the chivalrous or polite type, but she supposed that with his aristocratic Pureblood upbringing he would have been taught to treat women a certain way. Well, to treat Pureblood women a certain way. She had never seen this side of him before, and the thought almost made her smile. Hermione couldn't understand why he was treating her like this, though - with a semblance of kindness. She supposed that his moral lines had to be drawn somewhere, and the act that had been committed against her simply crossed them. Perhaps he felt guilt because it was his friend who had done this.

Hermione lifted herself to her feet and swayed, nearly falling before leaning heavily against the stall. Malfoy was right beside her, and she could tell he wanted to offer his arm for support but was rejecting the impulse. It hung awkwardly by his side, as if ready to jump out and catch her at any moment. She appreciated that he was there for her, but still felt a bit wary around him. How could she not after everything in their past?

She sat down at the edge of the tub, perched uncomfortably on the ice cold marble. Hermione raised her hands to the buttons on her robe and began slowly pulling them apart, looking back to Malfoy as she did so to signal for him to turn around. As soon as their eyes made contact, he turned slowly, seeming almost— reluctant? 

Hermione pulled off her shoes and stockings, discarding them to the side. She placed her hands on the edge of the tub and began to slowly lower herself into the steaming water. She sighed. It was just what she needed. As soon as she was covered to her shoulders by the water, she began to cry again. Hermione’s eyes filled with tears that slowly, silently spilled down her face.

She just wanted to be clean. To wipe the feeling of his hands on her, his body against hers that haunted her skin.

"Malfoy," she croaked, voice thick, "can you hand me the washcloth over there?" She asked, motioning a few feet from him to where he had dropped his things when he'd entered.

He didn't say anything, just bent to pick up the towel, soap, and washcloth and walked towards her, his eyes on the floor. He handed them to her without a word and turned back around.

"Thank you," she murmured. She squeezed the liquid soap onto the washcloth, then began to scrub herself. She started _down there_ \- she could feel him there more than anywhere else - before bringing it up to scrub her shoulders, her breasts, her arms, her face. Everywhere. She wanted to feel numb everywhere.

* * *

  
Draco averted his eyes, feeling wholly uncomfortable. She might want to be left alone after going through this whole ordeal. "Um… do you want me to go? I can go if you want," he told her stiltedly. 

She let out a guttural sob, and Draco turned and looked up at the back of her head. He was standing about three yards or so behind her, but slowly began to advance towards her when he heard it.

"Granger, what is it?" He immediately saw that the back of her shoulders were bright red from her furious scrubbing. She had brought the washcloth to her face and was scouring her skin raw, rubbing her cheeks while bawling. "Granger!" He cried when he noticed, "Granger, stop!" He reached forward to grab her arm and still her without thinking. His hand wrapped around her wrist and she froze at his touch. She didn't pull away though. Hermione dropped the washcloth into the water and it slapped the surface, making a sound that echoed around the silent, cavernous space. She slowly drew her wrist from his embrace and turned her wet hand to intertwine with his. Her hand was warm and though it was strange to be touching _Hermione Granger_ like this, he didn’t hate it. They just stayed there for a moment, him on his knees besides her and her seemingly frozen. 

"Take me back to my room?" She finally said, in a tiny, hoarse voice.

"Alright," he said quietly after a pause, cursing himself for saying it weakly. "Let's go." He reached forward for the towel with his free hand and placed it in hers before releasing his hand from her hold and standing and turning to give her privacy.

The sound of dripping water filled his ears, and he heard her small groans as she wrapped the towel around herself. It suddenly occurred to him that she didn't have any proper clothes to wear - her robes were ruined. He should give her his, he realized unenthusiastically. He began to tug his off, the dark, heavy fabric falling smoothly from his body, revealing a grey jumper and black trousers. He reached behind himself to where he knew she stood. "Here, take mine," he said.

She took it from his hand and he waited for the sound of her pulling it over herself had subsided before turning to face her. Her robes were on the floor and he reached down to grab them, draping them over his arm. Hermione was standing on the ledge of the bath now, green towel around her abdomen and Slytherin robe around her shoulders. He stifled the laugh that attempted to escape his lips upon seeing her in his house colors, but he stepped closer and realized that he shouldn’t laugh; she looked horrid. There were darkening bruises on her arms and neck, and though the blood from her split lip had been scrubbed away, her cheek was pink- not from the heat of the tub though, but seemingly from a strike to the face.

Draco began to walk towards the door before remembering the mess on the floor. He whispered a small _accio_ for the buttons and fabric, pointing his wand covertly to the objects. They flew to his wand and he stuck them in his trouser pockets. He whispered a scourgify to clean the blood smeared on the floor where she sat. Merlin, how _awful._ He knew what that blood was from. 

Draco slowly pulled the door open and popped his head into the hallway, looking each way to be sure it was empty before stepping out of the bathroom. Hermione followed, directly behind him. He paused once in the corridor, and she joined him at his side. They began the long trek to the Head Boy and Girl dormitories upstairs. 

He hoped that nobody would see them in the corridors; they would undoubtedly question her appearance and their _togetherness_. After all, he was a known blood purist and he and Granger hadn't exactly been friendly before this. Being in each other's company would seem awfully strange to anyone who stumbled upon them. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing. Most likely not, he realized. She was probably too consumed with the memories of what had happened to care about her outward appearance. He chanced a glance at her, and as he’d suspected her eyes were glazed over and dead looking. 

They walked in silence, except for groans she let out when she took a particularly painful step. _Awful_ , he thought, though there was a tiny, tiny part of him that, though he would never admit it, liked the sound of the moans that left her mouth. It wasn’t _because_ she was Granger though, but rather in _spite_ of it, he thought. There was nothing attractive about her or the situation. They were just... suggestive sounds, that was all. 

When they were in the corridor before her Gryffindor common room, he decided to ask her what he should do about Nott. After all, Theodore had made it clear that he wanted Draco to know, so Hermione wouldn't be in any trouble for telling what had been done to her. 

"Granger," he began, suddenly feeling silly asking, "Can I confront Theo about this?" He felt small and embarrassed, like a little boy asking permission from his parents.

She immediately stiffened at his mention of him. "I… Well, I suppose you can say you found me and figured it out. Don't do anything rash though, Malfoy." He was honestly surprised. He had expected her to demand that he not do anything, considering her panic at the idea of anyone knowing.

"Of course I won't."

They neared the portrait leading to her dorm, and he realized this was goodbye. He turned to face her, grimacing at her awful appearance. Her posture was horrible; shoulders slumped in defeat, and tear tracks on her cheeks.

She spun towards him, her back to the portrait of a young girl on a bench. Her eyes were on the floor, but she raised them briefly to meet his gaze. "Thank you," she said, and she seemed like she truly meant it. But she also looked hesitant. Nervous. Granger slowly pulled the robe from her shoulders and handed it to him, exposing her bruised arms and the darkening bites on her shoulder and upper chest.

"Right. Well, goodnight." he said, giving her a wary look before she broke their eye contact and looked to the portrait, whispering a quiet "Canary Creams."

The portrait swung open, and she stepped in through the opening. She looked back at him sadly before it closed on her face.

Draco stood there for a moment, too stunned to move. Had that really just happened? It felt unreal, like a bizarre nightmare. What was he going to do now? Deal with Nott, he supposed. The only question was _how._

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: in this fic, Cho Chang will be a Gryffindor in the same year as Hermione. Also, I think chapters will be shorter from here on out- closer to 3-5 thousand words (this one is 4480). Enjoy :)

_Hermione_ _slumped against the stall door, furious tears making their way down her cheeks. She could not_ _believe_ _that Ron and Harry could be so entitled and callous. She felt positively dreadful after their argument, filled with rage and indulgent self-pity. She placed her wand to her side and huddled into her legs, laying her forehead on her knees. She must have stayed there for nearly an hour, but it was past 9:00 and she was sure no one would come in._

_The heavy wooden bathroom door let out a creak and she raised her head to see who was entering. Before she could catch a glimpse at the witch or wizard though, she heard a voice and suddenly she was disoriented, her vision foggy, her senses muddled._

_There was- a voice. The same voice? It was saying something- shouting. Why? Was she in trouble?_

_There was a pressure on her arm, pulling, pulling, pulling her up. A hand maybe. She was so high now, maybe she was floating. But her feet- her feet were on the ground. Her back was against something hard. Oh!_ _The stall door. She was in the bathroom._ _The hand was on her neck now, pushing up until her feet no longer touched the floor._ _Now_ _she was floating. Oh- but she couldn’t breathe. She wiggled, scrambling, pushing against the hand but it wouldn’t move. Something was wrong. It hurt in her chest._

_Then there was no pressure, but she hit the floor hard. Ow. And then her stomach hurt when something hit it. She began to cry. What was going on? Why was she in trouble? What was the voice saying? It was talking- talking or shouting, she couldn’t tell. A man. Was he angry? This was so scary- who was that? She felt water on her face. Tears? Would this be over soon?_

_“‘s not as fun if you don’t know what’s going on,” she finally heard a man say, and she let in a shuddering gasp as the spell was reversed. Realization struck her and she erupted into tears. Oh_ _God_ _, she had been confounded, and now she was on the floor of the Prefect’s bathroom being- kicked? She was in the fetal position, covering her head and torso with her arms and legs. Who the fuck was that?_

_“Stop! Please, p-please, stop!” The pleas came out automatically. “Please stop it,” she cried as the toe of a boot thudded hard into her side. She wanted to look up to see his face but didn’t want to risk a kick to her head. She felt another horrible, cruel strike against her back, and she let out a low-pitched, breathy moan. He laughed._

_She started timing it- one, two, thr- another kick, and more horrific pain blossoming in her abdomen. Again, one, two, t- another one. She had two seconds, give or take, to look up to see his face. The next hit was especially hard, and she doubled over in sick pain, her plan briefly flying out of her mind._

_After the next one, she chanced a glance up. There was a flash of dark hair, an evil, malicious grin, piercing green eyes, and perfect white teeth. Nott. Theodore Nott. What the fuck?_

Hermione awoke with a start, sitting up hurriedly. She panted heavily into the darkness, struggling to recover from her horrible dream. The horrible _memory._ Tears welled up in her eyes and she squinted them shut hard, wishing she could unsee the images replaying in her head of herself on the floor of the bathroom being beaten senseless by Theodore fucking Nott. 

She heard sheets ruffle to her right, someone sitting up. “Hermione?” croaked a voice. Oh no, it was Cho. She must have woken her. “Are you alright?” She yawned audibly. 

“Oh- yes, yes I’m fine. Go back to bed, Cho.” The last thing she needed was a late-night heart-to-heart with her dorm mate. They were friends, but they weren’t close and Hermione wouldn’t be able to tell her what had happened. Merlin, she didn’t think she would be able to tell _anyone_ , maybe _ever._ Alone with her thoughts and memories for eternity, or the rest of her life, she corrected. Well, not alone. There was always Malfoy, she thought darkly, before cringing. No, she didn’t have Malfoy and more importantly she didn’t _want_ him, even if he was the only one who knew what had happened to her. 

“Okay,” Cho said, apparently not requiring much convincing, and Hermione heard a small thump and a sigh as Cho settled back into her pillow. It was times like these that she wished being head girl actually came with a private dormitory, but alas, she was not so lucky. Even though, she thought resentfully, Hogwarts had plenty of empty rooms that could act as dorms for the head boy and girl, or the professors could make use of extension charms to build some. 

With a groan, Hermione lay down on her back, eyes to the ceiling. She wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep after her nightmare, so she just listened to Cho’s heavy breathing. During the long hours of the night, she planned out how she would act the next day: normal. She would be painfully, blissfully normal. She would be cold towards Harry and Ron in the morning, per their argument last night, but once they had apologized, which they always did, she would laugh at their jokes and help them with their assignments. It couldn’t be too hard, could it? She was strong enough to put last night behind her. Hermione Granger could compartmentalize like a pro. 

She lay wide awake until the morning light leaked through the break in the curtains, signifying that it was time for breakfast. She desperately wanted to skip it. Now that she was being faced with actually having to get out of bed, Hermione couldn’t even fathom walking all the way to the Great Hall and eating a full meal. Perhaps she could tell Cho that she was tired from studying and wanted to sleep in, or Hermione could owl her professors telling them that she wasn’t well and wouldn’t be attending classes for the next few days. Those ideas sounded heavenly, particularly the latter, but it couldn’t possibly be healthy for her to just lay in bed sulking, picturing the events of last night. Picturing the _incident_. No, she needed to get up, she needed breakfast, she needed to reconcile with Harry and Ron, and most importantly, she needed the distraction. 

Cho’s wand alarm sounded a few minutes later and both girls greeted each other warmly, reluctantly getting up and dressing. Best to face the day, Hermione supposed. 

This would be tough. 

* * *

Theo’s dorm room door had been locked last night. The motherfucker. Rather embarrassingly, Draco couldn’t muster the concentration needed for a simple _Alohamora_ to unlock the room that Theo shared with Marcus, so after a minute of trying, he resolved to go to bed and think of an actual plan for tomorrow. Perhaps this was better than striding into Theo’s room unannounced and - hitting him? Yelling at him? He didn’t know what he was going to do when he saw him. 

Draco woke in the morning and it only took him a moment before remembering last night’s events. He felt a chill down his spine as he recalled what Theo had said when Draco had left, seemingly an encouragement to have his own _go_ at Hermione. How fucking _awful_. Bile rose in his throat. 

He and Blaise changed without a word; when they first began rooming together years ago, they had fallen into a routine of silence in the mornings, as neither was particularly pleasant to talk to so early. Draco had never been more grateful for the quiet than he was today. 

He sat in the common room a good 15 minutes waiting for Theo while students trickled out to the Great Hall. As soon as Theodore got to the bottom of the stairs, alone thankfully, Draco had him against the wall with his forearm against his throat. Theo’s eyes were wide and he frowned, hands going to Draco’s arm against his neck, trying to pry it down, but Draco’s hold was like iron. 

“What the fuck did you do last night? In-in the bathroom, you attacked her. Why?” He questioned, voice low and dangerous. He had spent the last few minutes working himself into a righteous fury, and now he felt fully prepared to interrogate, or maybe beat-up, Theo. 

“Draco, chill the fuck out mate. Get off me.” He warned, attempting to push Draco off him. Suddenly, he stilled his movements, his eyes softening and frown easing into an amused smile. “Are you telling me you didn’t have a go? Or are you just peeved that you had the best experience of your life but might not be able to do it again?” He laughed, and Draco resisted the overwhelming urge to tear him apart with his bare hands.

“Theo, you- you _raped_ her,” he said quietly, in case anyone was listening. The word was dirty. 

Theo’s eyes darkened, his mouth twitching and losing all signs of light-heartedness. “Draco, in case you don’t remember, you fucking _told_ me to, so get off your high horse or whatever this is.” He pushed hard against Draco’s chest, and Draco stumbled back, stunned. _What?_

“Stop acting so _fucking_ high and mighty. I thought you would be _glad,_ ” Theo continued. 

_I- what?_ Draco thought hard, racking his brain for anything he had said about Granger in the last days, weeks, _months_ , but couldn’t think of a single thing. When they had returned to Hogwarts after the war, Draco had mainly just kept to himself. It had been years since he had talked to or about Granger and her friends. “Theo, what the _fuck_ are you talking about?” He growled. 

Theo rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, don’t act like you don’t remember! Sure it was a couple years ago, but _I_ never forgot.” Theo gestured animatedly. “We were right here in the common room with Blaise and Marcus, talking shite about that Mudblood bitch and her friends. We were coming up with ways to get back at them- you know, like cursing potter or killing the blood traitor’s little sister. And _you_ said we could beat up Granger because it was what that whore deserved.” 

“Theo,” Draco started, cringing. “Theo, I don’t remember that, but even if it _did_ happen, it was _years_ ago, and I never would have said anything about _raping_ her!” He said the word quietly again. 

“Oh, come _off_ it. Clearly you’ve forgotten what you used to really be like.” Draco shook his head. No, he would never have said anything about assaulting her. Would he?

Theo continued. _“_ I asked what you had in mind, and _you_ said that a couple of us, maybe all of us, could catch her in the corridor some day, pull up her robes, and see if she _fucked_ like a Mudblood too. This was fifth year, mind you, and we agreed that after she came to the Yule Ball all dressed up like that in fourth year, we should teach her a lesson about tempting Purebloods.” 

“Theo, no. That never happened. You’re lying.” He couldn’t believe that the four of them could have ever been so casually, despicably cruel. He _refused_ to believe it. 

“No I’m fucking _not.”_ Theo scowled, apparently insulted by being called a liar. What a twisted place to draw your moral lines at. “You even said that you would learn _Incarcerous_ from your father so we could tie her up, but Marcus said we could just take turns holding her down.”

Draco stepped back until the backs of his legs hit the plush green chair and he sat down, feeling like his breath had left his body. He remembered. He remembered the conversation, the loose plans, the casual cruelty with which they had referred to her. He didn’t want it to be true, but he knew Theo wasn’t lying. How he had ever forgotten, he didn’t know. He must not have wanted to remember that he was ever capable of saying such despicable things. 

Theo approached Draco where he was sitting, towering over him threateningly. “You pretend to be so _moral_ now, but _I_ remember what you were like. Draco, we used to have _fun_ together.” 

Draco was silent, stunned. He was _vibrating_ with self loathing, with fury towards Theo, with disgust at the whole situation. 

“Anyways,” Theo said, backing up from Draco and walking towards the front door of the common room. “I only did it because we’re graduating soon and I’d never have the chance again. We’re on borrowed time, anyway, with this eighth year. Then you said last night you were going to the bathroom and I thought you’d be pleased. I guess I should have known you would be a fucking buzzkill.” Theo reached for the door, but Draco stood up, and like lightning, his arm was in front of the door, blocking Theo from exiting. 

“No. No,” Draco began, taking a deep breath. “I might have said all that, but those were just _words_ , Theo. I never acted on them, which is what matters.” Draco couldn’t even convince himself of what he was saying; the words were _plenty_ bad on their own, and he felt a sick shame at ever having uttered them. “You shouldn’t have done that, Theo. That was _wrong.”_ ‘Wrong’ was an understatement, but Draco was too shocked from learning of his own indirect involvement to think of words that more accurately described the heinousness of what had been done. 

Theo rested his hand on the door and leveled Draco with a meaningful look. “Fine. Tell yourself whatever you have to in order to sleep at night. But just know that you had as much a role in what I did as I did.” Draco blinked slowly, trying to let the sheer fucking absurdity of what Theo had just said sink in. 

Draco was at a loss for words, but remembered suddenly why he had approached Theo in the first place. _Focus_ , he told himself. 

“Don’t you fucking touch her _ever_ again, or I will fucking kill you.” He redirected all the anger that he felt towards himself back to Theo. “I mean it, Theo.” 

Theo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah I get it. You’re ‘The Man’ now.” 

“Oh, why don’t you just _shut-”_ Draco started replying when Theo interrupted him. 

“Why do you care so fucking much, anyways? Last I checked, you hated her guts. She’s always beating you in classes and she punched you that one time in third year, plus she’s a fucking _Mudblood_ , but now you’ve designated yourself as, what? Her _protector?_ Her _friend_ ? I don’t think so, Draco. I know you and you’re not that _good._ You’re more like me than you’re willing to admit.” 

Theo pushed Draco to the side and exited the common room. Draco just stood there like an idiot, too stunned to move. The last thing he had expected was for the conversation to be turned back on himself, much less on the words of his sixteen-year-old self. Unbelievable. 

* * *

  
Malfoy was late for breakfast. Hermione only noticed because she had been looking over at the Slytherin table approximately every five seconds or so since she sat down. Luckily, Nott was nowhere to be found, which she silently thanked God for. How was she going to survive seeing him everyday? They had Divinations and Transfiguration together, which meant she would _never_ get a break from him. Her stomach was in knots just from the thought of it. 

“‘Mione, we’re so sorry.” Ron’s voice rang through her head for a moment before she turned to her left to see him taking the seat next to her. Harry settled onto the bench on her right. _Surrounded_ , she thought, inexplicably horrified, before letting out a deep breath. This was fine. They were harmless. 

“Yeah, Hermione,” Harry added. “I know you’re always telling us not to rely on you for our classes, but- well, you’re just so _smart.”_ She rolled her eyes. Flattery would get him nowhere, especially since she had already decided to forgive them in order to get on with her “normal” day. 

“Yeah! We really can’t help it because, well, y’know, our classes are so difficult but you’re always there to help us out. But we _promise_ to do our own work from now on. Honestly,” said Ron. She wasn’t convinced. 

“We promise, really,” echoed Harry. Merlin, the two of them were ridiculous, and absolutely rotten liars, but she loved them regardless. She just wasn’t looking forward to the next incident in which they took advantage of her academic prowess.

She looked up in front of her at Neville, who was watching the exchange and grinning at her as if to say that he, too, found them ridiculous. She did her best to smile in return. 

“Alright, fine. As long as you promise,” she warned, but before she could finish they were both embracing her, Harry wrapping his arms around her shoulders, Ron wrapping his around her waist. She stiffened, mind panicking and limbs freezing in place while they hugged her awkwardly. Mercifully, it was short lived, and they both released after a moment. She took a deep breath.

“You alright ‘Mione? You seem a bit, uh, frigid,” Harry gave her a questioning look. Did he have to choose _today_ to suddenly become observant?

“No, er, I mean yes, I’m fine. Just a bit tired is all,” she said unconvincingly, desperately hoping they would just ignore her odd behavior. 

“Me too,” Ron started, yawning. “I was up talking Quidditch ‘till three last night with Harry. Well, it was more like _arguing,_ if I’m being honest,” he said with a laugh. Hermione was grateful for the change in subject, even if she found Quidditch to be one of, if not the most dense conversation subject.

“Oh, don’t get me started again,” Harry joked, standing up and moving to Hermione’s left to sit next to Ron. “You cannot _seriously_ believe that Ragmar Dorkins is the Chudley Cannons’ best player. Did you not see that match with-” Hermione started tuning them out as soon as she heard the word “Quidditch.” 

She picked at the food she had piled on her plate - a spoonful of scrambled eggs, a slice of dry rye toast, and a blueberry muffin. She was far too anxious to eat, and she _forced_ herself to take a bite of her muffin in order to appear normal in case anyone was watching. After all, Hermione usually ate plenty for breakfast since, as the saying goes, it’s the most important meal of the day. 

“Are you gonna finish that?” Ron asked, the words coming out rounded as he spoke with a mouth full of who-knew-what. Hermione looked down at the muffin he was pointing at and picked it up, handing it to him. “Sweet, thanks ‘Mione.” He shot her a lopsided, boyish grin. He really never stopped eating, and usually she would scold him for his gluttony, but she didn’t feel up to it today. 

Suddenly Ron’s eyes were transfixed on a point just past Hermione’s head, his lips contorting into a frown and his eyes narrowing. Hermione didn’t know what he was looking at, but it couldn’t be good. She stopped breathing entirely and her eyes were stuck on Ron’s face, which was twisting into an awful scowl. _Please, please, please don’t let it be Nott. Please God._

 _“Granger,_ ” a snobby-sounding voice began, and Hermione simultaneously breathed out a sigh of intense relief at it not being Theodore Nott and felt her stomach do flips. She turned to see Malfoy sitting right beside her, his gaze intent on her. Oh _God_ , what was he _doing here?_

_“_ What the _hell_ are you doing over here, Malfoy?” Harry asked from behind Ron, voicing her thoughts exactly. Now everyone sitting near them was looking at Malfoy and at _her_ , because Malfoy had said _her_ name. Why had he done that? Why was he sitting here?

Malfoy sneered. “None of your business, Potter. I’m here to talk to Granger about a project.” The knots in her stomach loosened ever-so-slightly upon realizing that Malfoy was not about to reveal her secret in front of all her friends, but _still,_ being here was drawing unnecessary attention. 

“‘Mione? What the hell is he doing here?” Ron looked at her questioningly. Oh Merlin, she didn’t like lying to them. 

“Yes, well,” Hermione began, instantly thinking up a fake History of Magic assignment. “Professor Binns has assigned us a collaborative project on the 14th century Wizarding Economic Bubble. It’s usually a sixth year topic, so we’ll be formulating a lesson on it and presenting it to a sixth year class. Personally, I think Professor Binns is just using this as an excuse to not teach, which is shameful, really.” She hoped that seemed convincing or that they had, at the very least, tuned out.

Luckily, it seemed to do the trick. Ron began turning back to Harry, muttering “bloody tragedy you have to work with _Malfoy_ , of all people, though.” Harry harrumphed in agreement, but the two of them seemed to be willing to leave well enough alone this time. Thank Merlin for small favors. 

“Oh go shove it, weasel.” Malfoy retorted, but Harry and Ron ignored him, which was rather unlike them but greatly appreciated. 

Neville glared at Malfoy, perhaps unsurprisingly, considering it was Malfoy’s deceased Aunt Bellatrix who had tortured his parents to madness. But Luna pulled Neville’s sleeve and diverted his attention to a discussion about an organism that was dually classified as both an animal and a plant. Hermione wouldn’t have minded listening in on that conversation, but suddenly she felt a warm breath on her ear. “That was brilliant, Granger,” Malfoy whispered into her hair so as to avoid anyone hearing. 

_Brilliant?_ Her stomach was back to doing jumping jacks. He needed to be more covert. And why was he suddenly _complimenting_ her? This was so, so wrong. “What the _hell_ are you doing here?” She asked. “Could whatever you had to say not wait until Astrology?” She shot daggers at him with her eyes. He must be out of his damned mind to come over to the Gryffindor table. She half expected him to insist that she go see Madam Pomfrey, or to loudly announce the events of last night to her table, and she shrank from the thought. 

“I came to tell you that I’d had a word with Theo, and that I’d be making sure he kept his distance from you in the future.” He looked at her strangely, eyes grazing her face and body. “What the hell are you even doing here, Granger? You should be in your room… relaxing, recovering, whatever the hell you want to call it. I didn’t think you’d show your face today.”

That wasn’t an especially kind way to put it, but Hermione reminded herself that they were _not_ friends, and the fact that he was speaking to her at all would have been unfathomable just a day ago. If not for last night’s events, they would have continued on their own, very separate tracks at this school. But alas, he was clearly making an effort, whether out of some misplaced feeling of pity or the _goodness of his heart_ , she thought wryly. He cared, though; that much was clear. And though Hermione had yet to ascertain his motivations, she wasn’t exactly in a position to reject his offer to help. 

Hermione secretly agreed that she might be better off in bed after having nearly vomited at the mere thought of Nott entering the Great Hall, but, not wanting to reveal too much of herself to him after last night’s events, she decided not to admit it. “It’s none of your business what I’m doing here, Malfoy,” she replied sharply, an edge to her voice.

That may have been too harsh. She didn’t want to dwell on why she was here, which was to distract herself from the unspoken _incident_ , and she especially didn’t want to bear her soul to _Malfoy_ with her _housemates around_ , so she had figured that a short but defensive answer would be best. It _was_ harsh, though - he was just trying to be kind. “I, uh- appreciate that, though. You talking to him. Thank you, Malfoy,” she stuttered out a bit more kindly, hoping it would be enough to send him on his way and away from possibly prying ears. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said nonchalantly, then he stood up and, with a flick of his wand, muttered the _muffliato_ counter-charm _._ He turned and Hermione watched, stunned, as his robe fluttered about behind him as he sauntered down the aisle. He had used _muffliato_ on their conversation? How… unexpectedly considerate of him. He’d covertly ensured that their hushed conversation would be completely private. 

Hermione couldn’t get a read on him; he had been an unbearable git for seven straight years, and now, after staying with her last night, he was being… kind? _Thoughtful?_ The thought vanished from her head when Ron spoke. 

“Good thing that was quick. Arrogant wanker,” he said, glowering at Malfoy as he walked away. 

Hermione sighed. She didn’t want conflict between him and Malfoy; first of all, they were all old enough to get past their silly childhood rivalry, and secondly, Hermione just wanted _peace_. She was weary and drained, and it seemed she might be talking to Malfoy again, so it would just be so much less painful if Ron and Harry would keep their insults to themselves. “Oh hush, Ronald.”

“‘Mione, it’s Malfoy!” Ron said, looking rather irked. “What would you have me do- welcome him to our table with open arms? I don’t bloody think so.” His eyebrows were drawn in disgust, apparently aghast at the very idea of being civil. 

“No, _Ronald,_ and I didn’t say anything of the sort. Just… go back to your food.” She desperately wanted to avoid this conversation topic. Hermione was by _no means_ trying to make them friends- it’s not like _she_ was friends with Malfoy, after all. But she didn’t see the harm in being polite. 

Ron scowled before shoving the remaining piece of the muffin into his mouth and nudging Harry to grab his book bag so they could walk to their first class. She looked around; the Great Hall was clearing up as students left for their first class in a few minutes. With a sigh, she stood and joined them, picking up the books she had left under her bench. It was time to truly face the day now. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
